


I'd Call Your Number (But Never Say My Name)

by RogueWolf



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Ceiling Vent Bucky Barnes, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Phone Calls & Telephones, Prank Wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:37:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueWolf/pseuds/RogueWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky has regained his memories but still has bouts of Winter Soldierness. To help himself get over that, he starts prank-calling the Avengers. And thanks to all the training Bucky received from Hydra, the Avengers can’t track him, not even Stark. And so it continues, until it gets to the point where Bucky is stable, but he decides that teasing the Avengers is a lot more fun than he thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worthy of the Bawk

**Author's Note:**

> More tags added as needed. 
> 
> I plan to update this fic every other week. My work schedule can be crazy, and I want to make sure I can get chapters beta'd and edited before I post them up.

He hadn’t expected this to be fun. Oh, he liked listening to Stark rant and rave about the crazy person always dialing in, and he enjoyed the little spider’s threats, but he enjoyed it the same way a wolf enjoyed singling out its prey. He was the Winter Soldier, the ghost, the unseen predator. He wasn’t surprised that he could still fall back into the old routines that had been his life for decades.

On the other hand, he hadn’t felt such unholy glee since before the war, when he would mercilessly tease Steve to the point his mama would come out and box his ears. He couldn’t tell if this was more fun, or if he had just gotten a tiny bit meaner in his old age.

“For the last time, I didn’t order any chickens!” The voice barked in his ear.

Bucky felt a smirk slide across his face. “Hoss, mah records say that ya did,” he drawled. “Itsa right here, one Tony Stark, 300 chickens. Ah expect you’se be paying with a card?”

“I’m not paying at all! I swear, if I get my hands on whomever did this-”

“Hoss,” Bucky said gently, barely resisting the urge to burst into laughter, “You was the one to order this. And, I’m not a man to judge another fellah, but puttin’ your hands on yaself…Well, that just don’t seem right.”

There was a startled silence and then Tony made a strangled scream. “I’m hanging up, and if you even think about sending me chickens I will find you and make you regret it.”

There was a click, and then all Bucky could hear was the shrill beeping of the dial tone. He pressed the red end button and then collapsed on his bed, his chest shaking with laughter. He was going to need to find at least one chicken, after all this was over, and send it Tony. The Avengers needed a new mascot anyways.

It wasn’t always this easy, but Bucky didn’t like to think about that. He was still amazed at how he could joke with the Avengers, with Steve, the way he did, and not have some kind of hidden programming kick in. He was half convinced that that would only happen if he saw them face-to-face, which was why he never went near them. He already had Howard Stark’s death on his conscience, he didn’t need to add his son’s.

But at the beginning, it had been so close. The Winter Soldier hadn’t wanted to play this game, hadn’t wanted to confuse them with prank call; he had wanted to sneak in in the dead of night and eliminate them all in their sleep. If he had to confuse them, he’d pick them off without leaving a trace, and watch them panic as they realized that something was wrong.

But the Winter Soldier wasn’t as strong as he used to be, or maybe Bucky Barnes wasn’t as weak as he used to be. Whatever it was, Bucky had been able to rein in the Soldier so that he wouldn’t kill some of the few people left who might someday treat him like a comrade. He worried that Howard’s son would hate him, but he could accept that. It was the Winter Soldier’s – his – fault that his parents were dead. He’d be more surprised if Tony didn’t mind at all.

So instead he tricked the Soldier. If he couldn’t kill the Avengers, at least he could frustrate and confuse them enough that the Soldier felt placated. And what he hadn’t realized at the time was that tricking the Avengers tricked the Soldier too. Which meant he obviously needed to trick the Avengers more often. It was all for the greater good, after all.

* * *

 

“Tony!” Clint yelled, “There’s a delivery for you.”

“I didn’t order anything!” Tony yelled back.

“Well, there’s nobody else here named ‘You know who I am (Tony Stark),’ so I’m going to guess that you did.”

Steve poked his head out of the kitchen, and Clint had to laugh at the smudge of flour streaked his cheek. “Do you really have to yell, Clint? There’s mics all around the tower, you could use your inside voice.”

“But Moooom,” Clint whined, “where’s the fun in that.”

Steve gave him a look, and Clint grinned back at him. “You’ve got a bit of something right here, Captain,” he said, pointing at his own cheek.

Steve frowned and then reached down to pull up the bottom of his apron, wiping it gently across his face. “Dinner is not turning out quite the way I expected it to,” he admitted.

Clint cocked his head to one side. “Oh?”

Steve nodded slowly, and then sighed. “The flour fell off the shelf and exploded.”

Clint stared at him before bursting out into laughter. “Oh my god, Steve Rogers got defeated by a bag of flour. This is perfect.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You say that now, but when dinner’s not finished in the next hour, you’ll be the one complaining.”

“Eh,” Clint shrugged, “I can always order take-out.”

Steve shook his head and then looked over at the hallway when Tony stomped in, smoke trailing after him.

“I don’t want to hear about it, Rogers,” he snapped. “I’m fine, the lab is fine, and Dummy is only partially singed. We’re all good here.”

Steve sighed and went back into the kitchen.

Clint eyed Tony, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m surprised you haven’t set off the fire alarms yet.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when the movement scattered ash across his face. “JARVIS is monitoring them, no reason to raise an alarm when there’s nothing to worry about.”

Steve came back out of the kitchen, a wet towel in his hand. “Here, why don’t you wipe some of that off,” he said, handing the towel to Tony.

Tony grunted and start rubbing at his face. “JARVIS,” he said, “what’s in the boxes?”

“I’m afraid that my scanners are unable to penetrate the material. It appears that something is blocking me.”

The trio looked at each other uneasily. “Not many people could block JARVIS,” Clint said.

Steve shifted, and Clint realized he was reaching for a shield that wasn’t there. “JARVIS, when did these arrive?”

“The packages appeared forty minutes ago. Agent Barton was the first to arrive and notice their presence.”

“Wait, what do you mean they ‘appeared’? Weren’t they delivered?” Tony asked.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was not notified of any delivery. They simply appeared in the foyer.”

“JARVIS, is there anything on the surveillance cameras?”

“The cameras have detected nothing unusual in the last hour.”

Tony frowned at the boxes scattered across the floor. “JARVIS, can you at least see if they are explosives?”

“Running scan…….Results are negative. There are no explosives nearby.”

Steve sighed. “That’s a relief.” He walked over to one of the boxes and crouched next to it, brushing his fingers against it. “We might as well open them, see what’s inside.”

“Cap, that is a terrible, terrible idea.” Clint said. He walked over to Steve and crouched next to him. “I’ll take the left side.”

He and Steve began to pull the tape off the boxes. Tony watched for a few minutes and then shook his head. “Plebians,” he said loftily. He stalked past them and whipped out a box cutter and began to slice through the tape. “I can’t believe you aren’t carrying any knives.”

“Oh please,” Clint scoffed. “It’s not even proper packing tape, this is kiddy stuff.”

“I stick by my words,” Tony replied. “Now shut up and open boxes.”

Half an hour later found Tony, Clint, and Steve surrounded by a sea of clucking, plush chickens.

“Tony!” Steve shouted, “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t me!” Tony yelled back. “It was the guy on the phone!”

“The hell are you talking about, Tony?” Clint shouted from his perch atop the counter space. “Why would some guy give you hundreds of chickens?”

“I don’t know! JARVIS, can you do something about this?”

“Sir, my protocols never included destroying…toy…chickens…”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that JARVIS sounded more than slightly perturbed.

“Clint, you can do something, right? You’re a bird, go communicate with them or something!”

Clint stared at Tony. “They’re machines. What do you expect me to do, bawk at them and make them shut up?”

“YES!”

“Stark, you are such an idiot,” Clint sighed. He twisted himself around on the counter until he was facing the majority of the chickens, took a deep breath, and leaned forward.

“BAWK!”

The chickens stopped clucking immediately.

“Holy shit! Barton, do it again!”

Clint just stared at the chickens with wide eyes. “You know, I’m starting to think this is a bad idea, guys.”

Steve backed up to the counter. “Clint, it might not be a good idea to listen to Tony on this. Let’s just try and see if we can take them out of the tower.”

“Yeah,” Clint nodded, “good idea.” He hopped off the counter, but didn’t make a move towards the chicken. “This is going to sound pathetic, but I really wish I had my bow right now.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I agree. I’m not certain that these are just plain stuffed animals.”

“Aw, come on, guys,” Tony whined behind them. “They were listening to Barton. Can you imagine if we got them to follow orders? It would be amazing!”

Clint and Steve looked at Tony. “You have got to be kidding me,” Clint said. “You were ready to destroy them just a few minutes ago.”

“Well, yeah, but that was before I saw the promise in the bawk.”

“You...what?”

“The bawk. You know, when you did this.” Tony winked at Steve and Clint, looked at the chickens, and went, “BAWK!”

There was silence for a few seconds then the chickens suddenly burst into even louder clucking and hopping in place.

“Shit!” Clint shouted, and hopped back up on the counter. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Steve hesitated for a moment and then pulled himself up beside him, leaving Tony to face down the mob of chickens alone.

“Um, guys,” Tony said, “a little help here. The bawk’s not working.”

The chickens hopped in place a little higher and then started bouncing towards Tony.

“JARVIS!” Tony screamed, “I need help now! Right now!”

The chickens began to surround Tony, their clucking growing so loud that Steve couldn’t hear Tony yelling at JARVIS anymore. He grabbed Clint’s shoulder, “We need to help him!”

“How do we fight toy chickens?” Clint shouted. He gestured wildly across the room. “There’s nowhere to put them!”

“I don’t know, just get them away from Tony!”

Steve vaulted off the counter and ran to Tony, stomping on the chickens as hard as he could. They were made of some odd, springy material; they’d flatten for a few seconds before bouncing back into shape. Whatever machine enabled them to cluck wasn’t as sturdy. As Steve kept stepping on the chickens, their clucking morphed into an alien cry, almost like metal being twisted apart. It tore at Steve’s ears, until he was certain his ears would start bleeding.

He finally reached Tony who was kicking out at the chickens bouncing nearest to him. “Come on!” Steve shouted in his ear, “Let’s get out of here!”

Tony nodded frantically and he and Steve started backing away, kicking and jumping to clear a path. There was a hiss-thunk and Steve realized that Clint had joined the fight. He was standing on the counter, a handful of steak knives jutting out of his hoodie pocket as he balanced, took aim, and let a knife fly to bury itself into one of the toy chickens, pinning it to the ground. He drew another knife and looked for his next target.

Steve and Tony were almost to the kitchen doorway when they heard the familiar roar of the Iron Legion suits. Tony slumped against Steve. “About damn time, JARVIS,” he groaned.

Steve wrapped an arm around Tony and pulled him up. He wanted Tony away from those chickens, even if they Iron Legion was there to help. Who knew what else those chickens were capable of.

Steve finally got Tony into the kitchen and he started grabbing chairs and cookie pans to barricade the doorway. In the other room, he could hear the Iron Legion firing off repulsor blasts, and he had no doubt that the chickens were being exploded into tiny fluff balls.

It took longer than Steve would have liked, and Tony was a half hysterical mess, but the chickens were finally all destroyed.

“Steve?” Clint called out, “It’s all clear, you guys can come out now.”

Steve glanced at Tony, who was pouring himself his third shot. “On our way, Clint. Just need to take care of something first.”

He walked over to Tony and gently took the bottle out of his hand, before stealing the shot glass and downing the liquid in it. Tony gaped at him as Steve grimaced. “Tony, what is this? It tastes terrible.”

“That’s because you have the tastebuds of a Neanderthal. Do you know how old that is?”

Steve put the bottle down, outside of Tony’s reach. “It’s old enough that it’s lost all taste and I could probably use it as a poison.” He wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders and tugged him forward carefully. “Come on, Clint says it’s all clear. Let’s go see what the damage is.”

“I already know what the damage is,” Tony muttered. “I’m never going to be able to look at chickens the same way again. I’m never going to be able to eat a chicken sandwich ever again. I’m doomed.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re not doomed, Tony. We just need to figure out why someone sent you chickens determined to mob you.”

Tony poked Steve in the ribs, and Steve flinched away, almost knocking Tony over. “I don’t care about why, I want to know who. And when I do, they’re going to regret ever sending me a chicken. Just watch me.” 

* * *

 Two buildings away, Bucky sat laughing in his room, tears streaming down his face and making his black facepaint run in steaks down his cheeks. That had gone better than he could ever have hoped. It was a shame the chickens had been destroyed so quickly, but at least he had been able to record some quality footage. Now he needed to think of something even better to do. It was time to start surveillance on the next Avenger. It was time to hunt down the Hulk.

 ****  



	2. What Is Needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags added: Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug

The problem with hunting the Hulk, Bucky decided a few weeks later, was that he was housed inside a man who didn’t like to go out. It didn’t matter that Bruce Banner was one of the leading scientist in his field, or that he was extended numerous invitations to galas and debates and other social events, the problem was that he accepted maybe only four or five for the entire year and then stayed hidden the rest of the time. Well, maybe not _hidden_ , Bucky mused. Hidden implied you couldn’t be found. Bucky had found Banner in less than a week. Maybe sequestered was a better word.

Whatever it was, Bruce didn’t seem to spend a lot of time with people he didn’t know. He was usually with the Avengers, and sometimes he’d meet with Thor’s lady and her assistant, or other scientists that the Avengers were on good terms with, but he never sought them out. They almost always came to the Tower or skyped in on the huge TV in the conference room. Which meant Bucky had to come to him too.

It was harder than he thought it would be. The vents around Bruce’s rooms were grated off, unlike most of the vents throughout the tower. They also twisted and turned and ran in almost no logical direction. Bucky guessed that this was an attempt to keep Barton from trying to sneak up on the doctor. A good try, but he was the Winter Soldier, and he always found his quarry.

* * *

Almost three hours later he had found Bruce’s rooms. The doctor wasn’t in them, so he took the chance to survey the rooms. It was neat and organized, but it felt empty, as if nobody really lived here. Bucky moved around the rooms, trying to figure out what it was so bare. The closets were full of clothes, and there were bottles of sparkling water in the mini fridge, but there was no life. Bucky frowned at the neutral coloured walls. This was not what he was expecting.

His wrist chimed softly and he glanced at it before heading back to the vent he had entered from and vaulting back into the darkness. He replaced the cover with quick, easy movements and then crept back until the light wouldn’t shine on him. He made sure his face mask was fully in place, slipped on a pair of night vision goggles, and then waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Bruce pushed opened the door and stepped into the rooms, dumping his briefcase on the floor next to the door. He rested his forehead against the door for a few seconds before sighing and heading deeper into the room. His coat jacket was thrown onto one of the chairs, and he toed off his shoes and socks as he walked, kicking them away from him. By the time he had reached the mini fridge, his shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, his hair was a tussled mess, and he undoing the belt of his pants.

Bucky watch as Bruce opened a bottle of sparkling water, chugged half of it in one go, and then stepped out of his pants, folding them neatly before placing them on top of the fridge. He shrugged off his shirt, leaving himself in boxers and a dark grey tank top.

He padded over to the air condition unit and flipped up the lid. Bucky zoomed his goggles in until he could see the keypad. Bruce punched in a combo and then closed the lid. Nothing happened for a few seconds and then the room started to shake a little as the wall beside the bed pulled apart, showing a small entrance that led to a softly glowing den.

“Huh,” Bucky muttered to himself, “that was unexpected.”

He watched as Bruce went into the room and knelt down to pull out a cardboard box that had clearly seen better days from underneath one of the side tables. He placed it on tabletop and then went to one of the walls and tapped three times. There was a small whir of motors and then a section of the ceiling opened up to lower a punching bag. Bruce went back to the table, pulled a pair of boxing gloves out of the box, slipped them on, then went back to punching bag and then proceeded to beat the crap out of it.

Bucky watched from his vent with a growing sense of disbelief and sorrowed understanding. How many times, he wondered to himself, had Bruce wanted to let go, only to force himself back into control, so that he wouldn’t hurt the people around him? How many times did he have to fight back against his rage? People only saw the well-mannered doctor, who was quiet, shy, and reserved. They never saw the doctor that Bucky was watching, the one who could throw a punch, even when not green. The one who was almost growling under his breath, his anger and frustration evident with each punch.

He watched until Bruce stopped punching the bag and slumped, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He turned around and pulled off the gloves, dropping them back into his box. Going back to the wall, he tapped against it again and the punching bag began to rise back into the ceiling. Bucky kept watching and waiting as Bruce left the den, took a shower, then walked back into the glowing room to collapse onto a round bed absolutely overflowing with pillows and blankets. He buried themselves under them, until Bucky could barely see Bruce’s hair sticking out. He waited until the lights dimmed and Bruce started to snore softly, and then started to slowly crawl backwards into the vent. He knew what Bruce needed now, even if the doctor didn’t.

* * *

A few days after Bucky had snuck into Bruce’s room, Bruce and Tony left for D.C. to go to one of the few scientific events that Bruce had promised to attend. Bucky didn’t really know what it was about, but he knew that Bruce was being honored for some contribution to science. Or at least, he thought that’s what it was about. Tony was going with him, so who knew for certain.

He dropped out of the grate and then stood on tiptoe to pull out the packages he’d brought along. He set them on the floor and then opened up the bathroom closet to pull out some towels. He unfolded them and then tucked them securely against the doorway leading to the main floor. He doubted anyone would be coming this way, but that was no reason to be sloppy.

Once he was certain that the door and windows were secure, he switched on the lights and looked around the room. It was as empty and plain as before. Bucky shook his head slowly and then headed over to his packages and started pulling boxes out. He pulled out a notebook, scribbled in it, and then set it aside. He pulled one of the low side tables in front of the sofa and began to set items on top of it. When he was finished, he tore out several pages from his notebook and taped them to each item, before turning off the lights. He removed the towels, folded them neatly, placed them back inside the closet, with one more note placed on top of them, and then pulled himself back into the vents and left.

* * *

“Congratulations, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce smiled up at Steve. “Thank you, Captain. It was a great honour to receive this award.” He looked at the small silver and golden atom in his hand. “I used to dream about getting this award as a kid. Funny to realize that it’s actually happened.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “I understand the feeling. Why don’t we have a drink to celebrate? I know Natasha has set something up.”

Bruce felt his smile go brittle around the edges. “I’d really like that, but….can we do that…another time?” He shrugged awkwardly, feeling the heavy weight of Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “We didn’t get a chance to sleep much while we were there, and the flight back wasn’t the most comfortable.”

“Of course,” Steve nodded. He removed his hand, and Bruce felt the absence of its warmth immediately. “I’ll let Natasha know. I hope you have a good night, Bruce.”

“Thank you, Steve, you too.”

Bruce turned and started walking down the hallway to his room, hating how much of a coward he was. It wasn’t that he was tired, per se, more like drained. He hated going to these events, hated how everyone around him called him a genius or an asset to the scientific community or talked about how he had changed the way mankind thought about the world. They always gushed about how special he was, while still maintaining a careful distance, never getting too close, as if they feared that touching him would turn _them_ into raging green monsters.

It was easier with Tony there. Tony didn’t mind drawing the attention to himself, so that Bruce didn’t have to focus on the people around them. Tony liked being able to prove that he was just as smart as all those other scientists, even if he was, primarily, a mechanic. Bruce could always count on Tony to become a distraction, so that he could fool the Other Guy into staying asleep. But it was always hard to do that when the conferences were over and Bruce was back home, the award in his hand, and the memory of how that handshake was the most touch he’d received from someone who wasn’t an Avenger.

And Bruce knew that if he told Steve that, he’d listen and suggest that they sit and watch a movie together, or something that would help ground Bruce into remembering that the people around him cared for him, didn’t fear touching him. Bruce knew that Steve wouldn’t push him away, but it was so hard to trust that it wouldn’t go badly. So Bruce always hid, those first few days back, and the Avengers gave him his space until he came back out again.

He leaned against his door when he reached it, letting himself feel how tired and hurt and empty he was. There were times he wished he didn’t have to leave his room, when he wished he could just stay hidden, when he wished that he hadn’t come back to help find the Tesseract.

He sighed and pulled away from the door to rest his hand against the biometric lock. The door slid open and he walked in and flipped on the lights, dropping his award to the floor at the same time. He was kicking off his shoes when he froze, eyes darting around the room. Something was different, he was missing a table, there was usually-

His heart rate rose as he saw the missing side table sitting in front of the couch, covered in boxes and paper. He looked around the room, but nothing else seemed out of the place. He crept to the couch, ignoring the fact that he still had one shoe on, and looked at the pile of stuff sitting there.

There were several packages, all different sizes, wrapped in brown paper and carefully tied together with twine. The paper taped to them were folded on half with a number on the top part. Bruce frowned, then shrugged and sat down. He didn’t think they were booby-trapped, and even if they were, it’s not like much could really hurt him anymore.

He reached for the first pile, with the number “1” scrawled on top, and untied the twine. Inside were a bundle of letter, tied together with more twine. He untied that as well and sifted through them, his frown deepening as he realized that a majority of the letters were either written with crayon or marker or had the tell-tale sign of a child who wasn’t used to writing yet.

He opened up the first letter and started reading. His hands clenched around the paper suddenly, and he hurriedly let it go, pressing it against the table to smooth out the wrinkles. He held it there as he finished reading it, and then he opened the next letter against the table, then the next, then the next. By the time he was almost at the end, he was shaking, his shoulders tight, and his hands balled into fists on the tabletop.

The last few letters were tied together again, and this time he tore the twine off, not even bothering to untie it. These letters were different, he realized. They were written in pen, and were sealed in envelopes. He opened the first one and started reading it, and never noticed when he started to cry, the tears running down his face silently. He gently place the letter aside and opened the last few. When he was done, he sat there, crying and shaking, before sliding to land on the floor with a thump. He gasped a breath, buried his face in his hands, and then went to pieces. His shoulders shook even harder as his breathing deepened into rough gasps for air and hoarse sobs.

He didn’t know how long he sat huddled on the floor, but he knew his body didn’t like it. With a groan, Bruce stretched, twisting to work out the kinks. His face hurt from crying, and his nose felt so stuffed up he couldn’t breathe properly. He unbuttoned his shirt and tore off a strip of the fabric, using it as a makeshift tissue before looking blearily at the table. The letters were sitting where he had left them, all innocent and colourful. He flinched and his gaze skittered over to the second pile, labeled “2.”

He pulled the two brown paper wrapped items into his lap, too exhausted to push himself back up on to the couch. He unwrapped the first package to reveal a plain notebook, with a sticky note attached. Someone had written, “This is how we do it,” on it with black sharpie. Bruce opened the notebook and started paging through it slowly, occasionally choking off noises. When he was finished, he placed it carefully on top of the letters, and turned to the second package.

It was harder to grip, as if someone had stuffed the paper with down feathers. When he pulled the paper away, a stuffed bear stared back at him. It was a deep, chocolate brown, with amber coloured eyes, and a velvet button nose, with a purple ribbon tied around his neck. His fur was soft, almost silky, and Bruce ran a hand over it, marveling at the texture. He petted it for a few more minutes before letting it sit in his lap while he opened the third, and final, package.

It was a Rock’Em Sock’Em Robot set, and Bruce just stared at it in confusion. What was he supposed to do with this?

He shook it gently, and a little note taped it fluttered in the wind. He peered at it. “Plug me in.”

Bruce shrugged and put the robot set down, moving his teddy bear so it sat on the sofa, and then shuffled over to the nearest plug, trailing the robots behind him. He plugged it in - since when did they come with plugs? – and sat cross-legged in front of it, waiting.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then the robots whirred to life, punching the air in front of them.

“I was wondering when you’d open this,” a voice said.

Bruce jumped and looked around the room.

“Who said that?”

“I did.” The blue robot stopped moving as the red one punched the air. It bowed once and then straightened and punched the air some more. “I’ve been sitting here, wondering if you’d open these packages or not. It’s nice to know you took a chance.”

“Why? Who are you?” Bruce demanded.

The red robot stopped moving. “I’m someone like you,” the voice said quietly. “Someone who took a chance and made it out ok. I got lucky though, and I think maybe you shouldn’t have to take your chances alone.”

Bruce’s fisted his hands, his knuckles quickly turning a mottled white and red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered.

“I think you do. I saw your extra room, Doctor Banner. Don’t worry, though, I didn’t go in. It was an accident I saw it, but entering it? That would have been on purpose, and everyone deserves a safe space.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

“Those letters were written by some of your fans, you know? They’re from Harlem and the rest of New York that got hit in the big battle. They really look up to you, they’re thankful for what you’ve done.”

Bruce gritted his teeth and ignored the tears pooling in his eyes.

“That second batch of letters? They’re not quite the same. There’s a foster home, a little outside of Harlem, you’d be pretty welcome there. A lot of the kids there have anger management issues, it’s what makes it hard for them to find a good home. But they’re trying, they’re good kids.” The voice laughed softly. “They remind me of a friend I had once, who couldn’t keep quiet, who always had to stick up for the people around him. He’d like these kids too.” The voice turned businesslike again, “Anyways, you’re their role model. They see how you control your anger, how you use it for _good_ and to help protect the people around you, and they want to be like you. They wrote that notebook for you, gave you all the advice and tips they’ve picked up over the years, of how they try to keep calm. But they have questions for you too. The address is in the back,” the voice said gently. “You don’t have to go, but it’s there, if you want it.”

Bruce knuckled his eyes, breathing slowly. “And what’s in it for you?” he asked.

“Nothing, Doctor Banner, except maybe the chance to help someone who reminds me of me. And maybe I need someone to help remind me that I’m not out yet, that there’s still a ways to go. But that doesn’t mean we have to do it alone.”

They were silent again, and Bruce leaned over to pick up the teddy bear. “You’re right,” he finally said, “we don’t.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky put a mic and speaker in the Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em robots, which is why Bruce had to plug it in. But instead of wiring it to run on an internal battery, he’s made it so that they run on external power only. Bucky knows what it’s like to not be given privacy, to have someone always watching him and giving him no space, and he would never do that to Banner. He’s giving Bruce the choice to plug in, the choice to talk if he needs to, the choice to contact him. Bucky will never be able to access the mic and speaker without Bruce allowing him.


	3. Guess Who's Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient! Time for chapter three :D

If the Avengers noticed that Bruce start bringing a teddy bear to their weekly movie nights, they were smart enough to stay quiet about it, even Tony. They did exchange surprised looks when Bruce opted to sit on the floor in front of the couch and lean back against it, instead of curling up in his single chair. They were even more surprised when, a few days later, he came up to Steve and asked if he would go with him to Harlem.

“I’d be happy to go with you, Bruce. But, I’m not certain why we’re going?” Steve trailed off and cocked his head to the side. “Is something the matter?”

Bruce shook his head, but he couldn’t stop twisting his fingers nervously. “No…I just….there are some who want to meet me. And I think I’d like to meet them.”

Steve nodded and clapped a friendly hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I understand. If you want, we could leave now.”

Everybody stared when Bruce looked up and smiled, but nobody said a word.

* * *

“So what do you think that was about?”

“Argh! Barton, don’t sneak up on me when I’m working!”

Clint grinned smugly and slumped against the side of the wall vent, twirling an arrow absentmindedly between his fingers. “You’re always working, Tony.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Tony muttered.

“And you’re the most fun to surprise,” Clint continued, ignoring Tony. “Natasha throws knives at me and Steve just sighs and gives me his, “I’m-so-disappointed-in-you face.”

“I noticed you didn’t mention Bruce,” Tony said, leaning over to grab a grease rag. “And here I thought you were an equal-opportunist.”

Clint shuddered. “Are you crazy? You might get off on trying to anger the green rage monster, but I’ll pass, thanks the same.”

Tony smirked at Clint and then leaned against his workbench, crossing his arms and studying the archer. “So why are you bothering me?”

He twitched a little when Clint’s arrow flew past him and exploded into a wire net that wrapped around Dummy. “Stop messing with my robots,” he told Clint.

Clint swung out of the vent and walked over to Dummy, tugging the net experimentally. “I had a couple of reasons, actually. I was wondering if you could make my net arrows hold a charge, like a mini EMP?”

“Yeah, sure. As long as you stop attacking my robots.”

“And I was curious what you thought about Bruce and Steve taking a trip to Harlem.”

Tony shrugged. “Bruce wants to look at what he did, who knows.” He swept an arm around the room. “It’s not like I can tell the man not to, after everything I’ve destroyed.”

“Aw, come on, man. That’s not a real answer. He’s avoided the area for years. Why now?”

“Because he has a purpose, something has given him a reason to go there.”

Clint and Tony both gave out undignified squeaks and turned to see Natasha resting against the workshop door.

“Jarvis! Why do you keep letting people sneak up on me?” Tony demanded.

“I am sorry, sir. You did not tell me that your workshop was currently off limits, and your conversation with Agent Barton had not been classified as private.”

Natasha grinned and patted the wall, almost the way you would a dog. “Plus, I asked him not to say anything.”

“Ugh,” Tony grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Jarvis, this was not cool. Remind me to tell you later how not cool this is.” He pointed at Natasha. “I’m going to cover the floors with bells or something. Scare Barton, not me.”

“Hey!” Clint protested. “I thought we were allies!”

“Yeah, no,” Tony told him. “I’m not a part of this.”

Clint rolled his eyes and looked at Natasha. “So what’s this you were saying, about Bruce having a purpose?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Natasha walked further into the room and gently grasped Clint’s hands, tracing the calluses across his palm. “All of us have a reason for what we do.” Her lips twisted in a small sneer. “I’ve got red in my ledger, you can’t stand to see innocents hurt, and Tony, well,” she glanced at Tony, where he was freeing Dummy from Clint’s net arrow. “Tony doesn’t like people taking his tech and hurting others with it. They’re all reasons for our purposes.”

Clint watched her fingers glide over his skin. “You make it sound so simple. There’s more to it than that.”

“Of course there is, but when you boil everything down, when you look at our choices and our past…you start to see a pattern.”

“I like to think I’m not that predictable,” Tony said. “I have this image of mysterious, genius, super hero going on. I am so not predictable.”

Clint and Natasha stared at each other, then Tony, and burst into laughter.

* * *

“We’ll be on this stretch for awhile,” Bruce muttered.

Steve nodded and glanced over at Bruce. “Mind giving me a heads up about where we’re going?”

Bruce shifted in his chair, his seatbelt pulling tight against his chest. “I’d rather not talk about it right now, I just…”

“Hey,” Steve reached over and rested his hand against Bruce’s where it lay tapping against the cup holder. “Bruce, you don’t need to tell me anything. It’s fine.”

Bruce shifted again and then nodded slowly. “I know.”

Steve smiled and moved his hand back to the wheel.

* * *

“Uh, it should be right around the corner, on the left.”

Steve turned the car and Bruce looked out the window, searching for the sign that said they were there. They drove slowly down the road for a few moments until Bruce spotted it. “There it is, that brick building.”

Bruce tapped his knee nervously as Steve carefully parked against the curb. He wished that he had thought to bring his bear with him, something that he could hold on to, something that would help remind him why he was doing this.

“Bruce,” Steve asked gently, “are you alright?”

Bruce’s head snapped up, and he realized that he’d been hunched in on himself, the seat belt cutting across his neck. It twinged at him as he sat up, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly.

“Bruce,” Steve said again, “are you ok?”

“I’m…”Bruce swallowed hard. “I’m ok. I just…I’m scared.”

Steve turned off the car and undid his seat belt, twisting in his seat until he could face Bruce directly. “Hey, Bruce, you know that we can leave, right?” He reached out to place a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If you’re not up to this, whatever this is, we can go.”

“No,” Bruce shook his head, “I don’t want to leave. It’s just that,” He looked at Steve, his face serious. “Have you ever tried to hide from something? You run from it, as fast as you can, but then it catches you, and you have to choose between facing it or running again.”

Steve hesitated and then nodded.

Bruce pointed at the brick building, his arm trembling slightly. “That’s what this is. I want to go in so badly, but I’ve been hiding from this part of me for so long. I can use it, but that doesn’t mean I like it or want it.” He looked down, his hands clenching his pant legs. “But if I can help others by embracing this part of me, that’s worth something, right? I’m not just Bruce Banner, I’m the Other Guy.”

Steve pulled Bruce close and hugged him. “I think that you are already doing so much good that you don’t realize it yet,” he said. “Sometimes we judge ourselves much harsher than the people around us. We only see the bad in ourselves, the parts that are lacking. We don’t see the parts that are good, that are amazing and wonderful.” He pulled back to look at Bruce, who looked shocked. “I don’t think you see that yet, but you will, one day. I’m sure of it.”

Bruce let out a shaky laugh. “I like to hope so, but sometimes it’s easier not to think about that.” He leaned back out of Steve’s hold and tapped his finger a few more times against his knee. “Let’s go then,” he said, and opened the car door.

* * *

“Hello, how may I help-OHMYGOD! You’re Doctor Banner!”

Bruce gave a sheepish smile and waved his hand at the secretary. “Um…hi.”

The secretary stood up so fast that her chair fell over. “I can’t believe you’re here, the kids are going to be so excited!”

“That’s um, that’s great,” Bruce said.

The secretary came around her desk and headed towards the office door when she finally spotted Steve, who was half-hidden by a nook in the wall. “You…” she whispered in awe. “You’re Captain America.” She teared up. “I can’t believe you’re both here.”

Steve smiled at here and straightened up, walking over to offer her a handshake. “Steve Rogers, pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Melanie Karp,” she answered almost numbly, shaking his hand. “Co-Manager of ‘Kids with Heart.’” She inched backwards towards the door, constantly glancing back and forth between Steve and Bruce. “Let me just go grab my co-manager and we’ll show you around.” She fled the room, leaving Bruce and Steve to stand there awkwardly.

“Well,” Steve finally said. “That was fun?”

Bruce nodded. “It was different, that’s for sure.”

They waiting in silence until they both heard the pounding of several feet and the excited screams and shouts of children. The door burst open and a group of kids swarmed in, most surrounding Bruce and clamoring for his attention. A few stared at Steve and he smiled and waved at them, and they smiled and waved back before heading to the crowd around Bruce.

Steve could barely even see Bruce at this point. He was crouched amongst the children, listening solemnly to a little girl who couldn’t have been more than six, as she waved her hands excitedly through the air. Bruce nodded occasionally, but for the most part he let her talk.

Steve felt somebody walk up beside him and he looked down to see Melanie watching the kids. “I don’t think you understand how much this means to them,” she said softly. “Dr. Banner has done has changed their lives. He’s given these kids hope, when nothing else could.” She sniffled. “Sorry, I’m just really happy.”

“It’s fine. I understand what it’s like to be given hope, when you never think it’ll come,” Steve told her. He hesitated, then asked, “Can you tell me why it’s such a big deal that Dr. Banner is here? He didn’t really tell me much, on the way over.”

“Oh!” Melanie’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.” She gestured at the building around them. “Welcome to ‘Kids with Heart.’ It’s a foster home for children who haven’t been able to find a forever family due to attitude problems.” She glanced at the children. “Most of the kids here have some form of anger management, which has led them to be pushed out by their previous foster families.” Melanie’s eyes grew sad. “It’s not their fault, not really. So many of them have been hurt by the people who should care for them, or by the very society we live in. They’re good kids but…they’re reacting the only way they know how to.”

Steve swallowed and looked down. “I can understand why they might relate,” he said softly. “The world is not always the fairest place.” He looked back up at Melanie. “Would it be alright if I met some of the kids?”

Melanie blinked at him and then smiled. “I’m sure they’d be delighted.”

* * *

It was after nine pm when Steve and Bruce left the foster house. The kids had piled them with drawings and crafts, and Steve had ordered enough pizza that there was enough left over for the kids to munch on the next day. They had protested Steve and Bruce’s leaving, but had quieted down after the two Avengers had agreed to read them a bedtime story. Melanie had thanked them over and over as she walked them out, and let them know they were free to come back at any time.

They were quiet on the way home, and then Steve looked over at Bruce, who was napping against the door. “Thanks for letting me come along, Bruce.”

“Huh?” Bruce startled awake. “What? Oh, um, you’re welcome. Thanks for um, thanks for coming.”

“Can I…I mean…would you mind…”

“Steve,” Bruce said, his voice tinged with amusement, “I won’t bite.”

Steve flushed, though Bruce could barely see it in the dark. “Can I come with you, the next time you go visit the kids?”

Bruce smiled softly. “Of course. I’d be glad to have you.”

* * *

“You visited the kids?”

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, settling onto the floor in front of the Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em robots. “It was nice.”

“I thought you’d like it,” the voice said, as the red robot started to move. “Want to talk about it?”

Bruce rested his hands on the controls and felt his mouth stretch into a grin. “Sure. Let me tell you about the prank they pulled on Steve. I think you'd like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Banner and Steve with kids feels.
> 
> I put some thought into this fic and realized that realistically I can probably only update it twice a month. I like being able to have at least two chapters written before I post something, and I'd like to be able to run the new chapter by my awesome beta, withasideofangst. Plus with my work schedule.... looks like two times a month it is. 
> 
> However, don't despair! I'm still posting drabbles and oneshots, if you'd like to have something to read between chapter updates. I have them all collected in my Avenging Drabbles and Oneshots series. These are posted more frequently, because I can write them between work days, when I need a breather or the plot bunnies have started to nest in my mind. 
> 
> If you have any prompts or ideas you'd like me to try, just let me know!


	4. Sparkle goes the Hawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the long delay. I hit a slump where writing just wasn't happening, but I think I'm over it! I've been writing a lot in my journals, which means more stories for you ^_^ 
> 
> See the end of the chapter for something special!

 Clint Barton was bored. Steve and Bruce were out, going somewhere unknown _again_ , Tony was sealed off in his workshop, and Natasha was on a mission that required a “subtle” touch, or so she had told Clint with a smirk. There was always Thor, but….Clint winced. He had interrupted Thor once when he had been…um…reacquainting himself with Jane and that was just…nope. There were some sights mortals weren’t meant to see and the god of thunder, in flagrante delicto was at the top of Clint’s list.

His stomach grumbled softly at him and Clint sighed and then swung himself off the ceiling rafter. At least he could kind of distract himself with making food, or maybe he could go out? He pondered the thought while he drifted over to the kitchen. There was this really nice BBQ place a few blocks out, best pulled pork Clint had ever had. He could always go there, maybe pick up some coffee on the way back-

The walls suddenly rang, and Clint squeaked, startled out of his reverie.

“Excuse me, Agent Barton, but AirQual is calling.”

“Well, tell Tony to answer it. I don’t like talking to people.”

“Sir has muted all incoming notifications, except ones categorized as red alerts. This does not fall under red alert status.”

Clint scowled up at the ceiling. “Then don’t answer this one, Jarvis. I ain’t talking to them.”

The walls fell silent and Clint nodded. “Great. Thanks, Jarvis.”

“You are welcome, Agent Barton.”

Clint kept walking back to the kitchen, planning out the best way to get his BBQ without being outed as an Avenger when the walls started ringing again. They went quiet a few seconds later, then started ringing again. This kept up for almost five minutes before Clint threw up his hands.

“Damn it, fine. Answer it, Jarvis.”

“As you wish, Agent Barton.”

The walls stopped ringing, and then Clint could hear somebody breathing over the line. “Who is this?” he asked.

“Hey, this is Jackson. I’m calling to inform you that you it’s time to have your air ventilation system inspected and cleaned.”

Clint shook his head. “We don’t need it. We’ve got a mechanic on hand who takes care of all that stuff.”

There was the loud snap of somebody popping a bubble gum bubble and Clint flinched and then scowled again. “Yeah, no can do bro. There’s rules. You’ve got to have a licensed guy come out and look over your stuff.” There was the sound of chewing and then the long breath of someone blowing a bubble. It popped again. “I don’t make the rules, bro, and you have a yearly appointment for air duct cleaning and inspection. Someone will be out within the week.”

“Hey, wait! I just said, we don’t have to-”

“So that’s all, stay toasty.”

Clint stared at the walls as the line was disconnected. “Did he…did he just hang up on me?”

“It appears so, Agent Barton.”

“But…but…we don’t _need_ random people coming out. We’ve got Tony…and you!”

“I’m sorry, Agent Barton, but Jackson was correct. There are rules in place, about who is licensed to inspect ventilation systems. While Sir can check them, they won’t be considered valid unless he becomes certified.”

“Arghh…” Clint growled. “Stupid Tony. Why didn’t he just get certified?”

“I believe Sir didn’t like the tests given. He thought they were boring.”

“Of course he did,” Clint grumbled. “Now we’re going to have some random guy poking around our air ducts, doing who knows what.”

He walked over to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath. He was just about to open the fridge when he went pale and froze. “Jarvis, how many nests do I have in the air ducts?”

“I can rescan, but at least check you had almost fifteen.”

Clint thumped his head against the fridge door. “Shit…shitshitshit. I can’t just leave them there, can I?”

“That is correct, Agent Barton.”

“Stupid Tony.” Clint kicked the fridge gently, “Fine, let’s go clear them out.”

* * *

Tony was lost in his work, ACDC blaring out his speakers, when he heard someone’s agonized yell echoing through the air ducts. He muted the music, pushed up his goggles, and wiped grease off his hands. “J, what’s up with the ghost noises?”

“Sir, it appears that Agent Barton has run into trouble.”

“Oh?” Tony grinned, “What kind of trouble? Is it good trouble? Trouble I’d want to see?”

“I have been asked not to tell you, at Agent Barton’s request.”

“Oooh, this is going to be good.” Tony wiggled his fingers and then flung his arms apart. A holographic map of the Tower appeared in the middle of the workroom, with several glowing dots on it. He looked at it and then grinned even wider. “Jarvis, my suit please. I think I should go help our little Hawk.”

* * *

When Tony zoomed up the air duct, Clint had just finished dumping what looked like a stream of glitter out of one shoe. Tony halted mid-air, staring. Clint was covered with glitter from head to toe. He positively sparkled, even in the dim lighting of the air vent.

“Hey sparkles,” Tony said and floated closer. “If I’d known you wanted to do some arts and crafts, I would have given you a room for that.”

Clint ignored him, but Tony could see from the way his shoulders were tensed that Clint was not happy.

“This is nice, and I’m all in favour of you getting in touch with your “make stuff pretty” side, but the air vents?” Tony shined a beam of light around them, making Clint wince and cover his eyes and the walls of the vents shine with glitter. “It’s going to take forever to clean this up.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t booby trapped the air vents with glitter bombs, we wouldn’t be having this issue.” Clint snapped. He was leaning over, trying to ruffle glitter out of his hair and failing. “I hate glitter,” he ground out.

“Woah there, Glitterhawk, I had nothing to do with this.” Tony shut off the light and Clint sighed in relief. “I can be an asshole, but glitter,” Tony shook his head, “there’s a whole other layer in hell for people who use glitter.”

“Well, if you didn’t do it, then who did?” Clint asked. He had straightened up and looked down at his chest and poked pathetically at a patch of glitter that seemed almost glued to his shirt. “I know it wasn’t Natasha, she hates this stuff. She almost shot me the first time I said we should use some for her makeup.”

Tony tilted his head. “You tried to convince the Widow to wear glitter?”

“It was for an undercover mission. At a club,” Barton complained. “I didn’t know she really didn’t like the stuff.”

“You don’t seem to be having that much problem with it,” Tony smirked. “You know, if you really want, I could always try and make you some glitter arrows. Nothing would strike fear into your enemies like the sight of a sparkly air bomb.”

“Oh shut up,” Clint grumbled. He brushed at his sleeve one more time and then gave up. “Can you take me to the locker rooms? I need to get this stuff off me before I go crazy.”

“Sure. Jarvis, find us the flight plan with the most mirrors.”

Tony grabbed Clint and then roared back down the air vent, Clint squirming uncomfortably in his arms, and both forgetting that Banner refused to go into the air vents and that Steve was away on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just made a tumblr account?  
> Wait for it....
> 
> I did! You can find me at http://roguewolfprints.tumblr.com/  
> If you're more comfortable reaching out to me there, I have my ask box open and I'd love to hear from you.


End file.
